


Voice

by Fyerluna



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyerluna/pseuds/Fyerluna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil finds something Station Management can't take from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voice

The words flowed around him. He couldn’t understand any of what was said, it was something, nothing, the roaring howls of the void, the deep quiet of the bottom of the sea. He couldn’t hear any of it, only the indistinct noise. He cried out, or the void did, or something did. Something cried out in his voice, angry and hurt and shrieking with the rage of the ageless old gods. He couldn’t feel his body anymore, and yet he could feel every fibre of his being ringing with overwhelming sensation transcending pain and pleasure and mixing the two together. It burned, it stung, it was cold like ice and hot like fire all at once.  
He fell onto the sand convulsing. He didn’t remember taking off his clothes or when he’d started bleeding or what had cut him. He hadn’t done it himself he was sure of that much. He wasn’t sure of where he was, or what part of the desert he was in. He’d never seen it before, and there was no one there to see him or for him to see. The voice came back, throbbing and pulsing through the air. It demanded reply, it forced sound from him, dragged his voice out of him. That was the only part of him they needed after all. They did what they liked with the rest of him. His body was twisted in front of him, pulled and broken, patched together in all the wrong ways.  
They tore at his soul, peeled layers away, sliced and devoured and regurgitated and rearranged and reconstituted in a form they felt was fit. He would carry their message, he would be their voice, the voice of the endless void, of the roiling seas, of the dark planet lit by no sun. He couldn’t hide from them. He couldn’t protect himself, he couldn’t protect his people. He screamed and wailed and they stole each and every sound from him.  
He clung to the only thing he had to himself. His perfectly imperfect, beautiful Carlos. He held tight to what the two of them had. They couldn’t take that from him. They couldn’t get to his sweet Carlos. Even if they did his brave Carlos would fight them and he would triumph over them. He would quiet the void, calm the sea, and light the darkness. His perfect, safe Carlos.  
He fell back into his body. He was panting and sweat soaked but whole. He was on the floor of the radio station, just outside management’s closed door. Murmurs came from behind the heavy oak, or metal, or whatever it was. He tried to push himself up but fell back to the carpet. He tried again and steady hands brought him to his feet. Warm arms wrapped around him. The void was quieted, the seas were calmed, there was light in the darkness. With his own voice he whispered, “Carlos.”


End file.
